Bonnie Blue Jmac - ~upd~

Corrigan stepped closer. “Keys. Now.”

“The Bonnie Blue and the J-Mac,” sneered the leader, a weasel-faced man named Corrigan. He paced in front of them, cheap boots squeaking on the damp floor. “The ghosts of the Ozarks. The duo who robbed the Diamond Duchess casino and vanished into thin air. And now? Now you look like a couple of drowned cats.”

Bonnie found the loading bay by memory. She yanked the chain, and the door groaned upward, letting in a wash of cool, wet air. J-Mac appeared beside her, silhouetted against the rain, a second pistol in his hand. bonnie blue jmac

He backhanded her. Her head snapped to the side, and she tasted copper. J-Mac lunged against his restraints, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “You touch her again, and the only thing you’ll be counting is your own teeth on the floor.”

“They’re on the boat,” Bonnie said. “Docked at the old lumber mill. But you’ll need a boat yourself to get there. The bridge is out.” Corrigan stepped closer

As Corrigan turned to bark orders at his men, the warehouse lights flickered. A storm surge. Bonnie saw it: the single guard by the generator, the open loading bay door, the coil of frayed rope near J-Mac’s foot.

In the dark, she heard Corrigan scream, “Kill them! Kill them both!” He paced in front of them, cheap boots

The men who’d caught them were amateurs. That was the only reason Bonnie and J-Mac were still breathing. Professionals would have put a bullet in each of their skulls the second they’d snatched them from the motel. But amateurs wanted to talk. Amateurs wanted to gloat.